


Pray, Pray, Pray for Me

by Drabbleshy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cliffhangers, Drabble, Drarry, POV Third Person, Prayer, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 20:05:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11813250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drabbleshy/pseuds/Drabbleshy





	Pray, Pray, Pray for Me

Draco Malfoy was a boy of little faith. His father was a cold man, his mother a woman who had given him warmth and true love, whence they were away from the former parent. Opposites in many things, opposites in Draco’s eyes, it was astounding that neither had had any religious feelings or faiths. The boy really had none to teach him of such things.

And yet, Draco Malfoy prayed to the gods he knew nought of. He prayed when he saw Harry Potter from the corner of his eyes, from the two silver spheres that painted his expressions and hoped that Harry would be his friend. No, not hoped. Prayed. And his wish went unheard and unseen and unfulfilled. He forgave.

Draco Malfoy hoped, no, prayed that Harry Potter would play a game with him, play on the brooms while the teacher was away. He prayed that they could both be clumsy on them, that they’d learn together, that Harry would lean on him for support, physically. He did none of those things. Harry just found him an annoyance.

Draco Malfoy prayed again, a year later, that Harry could, would protect him. That he’d approach him and offer a friendly gesture, a hand, a way of protection. He got lost in daydreaming of them walking down the hallways of Hogwarts talking about the minutiae of life and the darkest secrets they could muster up, being that young. He hated him instead.

Draco Malfoy prayed, oh, prayed to the gods! He asked them for Harry to be friendly during their Quidditch games. That, sharing a common yet diverging goal, The Boy Who Lived would notice him in a positive light. To recognise that he just needed a friend. A playmate. Anyone. The Boy hadn’t.

Draco Malfoy prayed for Harry not to go around, digging up trouble this year, just one year of rest for him and, then, days before school, he found out about this old and disgusting bag of trash, Sirius Black. He knew then that the gods cared not for him, and that they had decided to play with the raven-haired boy’s life. Draco didn’t like that.

Draco, middle name Miserable, Malfoy asked for Harry’s name to be unheard of this year: the year of the Triwizard Tournament. He begged. Promised anything. Promised his wealth and life and love. Three names came out, none Harry’s, and life seemed fair for once. Life liked him. Life–… hated him. He knew what had happened as soon as he saw the blue fire. Fuck the gods. He laughed bitterly as he ran to his chambers.

Draco Malfoy didn’t even like praying. There, he admitted it. He hated the gods and the praying and religious people. Stupid, shitbag, insane imbeciles, if you asked him! So, naturally, he prayed. He prayed for Potter to remain safe. He asked all the gods he ever even heard of, he asked the very magic in his soul, to leave Potter alone. Just, leave him out of trouble. Leave him be! Life rained spikes and knives on his loved one, and they both suffered. With Umbridge and stupid rules and You-Know-Wh– no, he’ll scream the name:  **“VOLDEMORT.”** That little, shitty coward. He broke three fingers punching his mirror, and all the rest hitting the wall, driving the pain, needles and glass deeper into his hands and skin and flesh and blood. He waited until past lunch to even leave his room. People say that Draco Malfoy never looked paler than that afternoon and that his blood is stuck within the stone walls of Hogwarts to this very day.

Draco Malfoy laughed. He cried. He did both. This was ridiculous. Pathetic. Miserable. Funny. Stupid. This was a lot of things. This was praying. All he wanted now was for Potter to be safe. He asked for so day and night, literally. This, this Voldemort empire was disgusting and noxious for all within it but him. No, it doesn’t deserve to be gendered. It gives him humanity. He has none. It gives him life. Draco hoped that he would have none of that either soon. Draco hoped Harry would do it. Instead, Harry was brought in, bruised and bloody and in pain and when the blonde was asked if this was the infamous Harry Potter… “I can’t tell,” Draco lied. He lied often. About his thoughts and feelings and…

And prayers. Draco had had many of those lately. He prayed to be freed and different. New and loyal. Brave and… ordinary. He wanted to be a Gryffindor. It would make fighting your parents and families easier. But, Hell, few Slytherins were like that in this generation. He hated that. He hated all of his so called “friends”. It made him laugh again.

Draco had only one prayer left after the War. “Make… No. We need to do this correctly now. Ask Harry Potter to-” he paused. Ask him to love me? Ask him to jump into my arms? After all that I’ve done? Nah-ah. “Ask Harry Potter to forgive me,” he decided. “That would be enough.”


End file.
